If I go downstairs I’ll probably stay there and not finish off what I am doing.
That would be a shame.
I’m on a roll.
And Other Personas
These are my pieces of extremely short fiction
If I go downstairs I’ll probably stay there and not finish off what I am doing.
That would be a shame.
I’m on a roll.
How old to feel today.
Hoping that you can stave off time before it’s too late.
Too late to live.
Would they come with us or are there too many people holding them back? It’s never the place, it’s the people.
hint fiction (n) : a story of 25 words or fewer that suggests a larger, more complex story – Robert Swartwood
That’s the definition as given by one of the leading lights of modern ultra short fiction. Does it go far enough? Possibly.
Hint fiction is not a posing of a what-if? question. It’s the barest of bones of a story; beginning, middle, and end. An oft quoted example is by Ernest Hemingway – For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn. A tale of death, sorrow, and moving on, perhaps. You have to fill in the blanks.
It means the reader has to do more work than with most other fiction. The piece therefore becomes a joint creative effort; the writer and the reader in the most intimate relationship of shared thought.
Stop talking now. She would never ask again. The gunshot resounded through the mall. Even though it was full there wasn’t a single witness.
You have a choice. You always have a choice. It might not seem that way, but even a prisoner on death row has a choice.
They came, pushing and crying for attention. One by one their needs were met for the moment. Tomorrow would be the same.
They stopped twenty feet from the junction. They waited. Back the next day. They waited.
The next day they were found; dead; bullets in the head.
It was a wet and windy night. A farmer must always pay head to the weather. Tomorrow it will be over.
He took the pills. A moment’s relief followed. Another four hours for the next fix. Why wait for oblivion?